


mochizuki-kunnn

by noodlefucker



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Underage Drinking, at first, except the consequences are offscreen so its a silly story about kids drinking, ft. consequences, if youre here for hot porn dont be, the trashy underage clubbing story, theyre just grinding unsexily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 14:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13237860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlefucker/pseuds/noodlefucker
Summary: For tonight, he's just a sloppy drunk fuck.For tomorrow, he hopes Ryoji won't be missing those pretty eyeballs of his.





	mochizuki-kunnn

**Author's Note:**

> ill say this fic is confused bc the narrator is drunk but im actually just unapologetically sleep deprived
> 
> this week on 'things ill pretend i never wrote':

Minato can’t fathom how Club Escapade is still running with its policy of letting in anything that breathes. Every time he was let in to speak with the old monk and the other drunks, he’d thought, what the hell, maybe I’m just a regular by association. Maybe it was assumed he’d never order anything. It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t matter, because Mochizuki was here and he was about to ruin the best date he’s had with a girl in his life. 

Granted, sneaking Yukari into a nightclub isn’t the most romantic thing he could’ve done, but they’re teenagers, dammit, and both agree it’s a stupid thing they should do at least once while they’re underage. And it had actually been going great, and Minato knows it’s true because he will recall that fact even sober. They’d ordered drinks, danced, talked. She was wearing a short pink dress, and silver heels, and had her hair done up, everything perfect in all the perfect places. He can still feel the way she melts in his hands. They kissed, of course, and more heavy than that, and Minato had almost suggested they just take it back to the dorm, but he knew they’d come out to have fun and she was really just teasing him. He’s never been especially competitive, but for her, he likes to prove he can best a challenge. Besides, Mitsuru would beat the piss out of them if they came back drunk.

So when Yukari left to use the bathroom, he was left alone with his thoughts and a half-tent in his pants, manspreading for maximum comfort. Looking around, everyone seemed to be involved in their own conversation, usually sultry. The women at the other end of his long booth were gossiping chattily in almost-matching sleeveless dresses and stilettos. Minato closed his eyes, hand drifting down. He caressed himself through his jeans, discreetly, mindlessly, dirtily, whatever. No one was watching and he wasn’t about to finish. It was just a dream, a perfect moment.

When he feels a weight settle on the booth next to him, he’s about to let out a sigh of relief and deadpan that Yukari must like to piss because she drinks exclusively beer, when he realizes it isn’t her. Through slightly blurry eyes, he stares at the other boy. Those blue eyes. Minato quickly grabs a shot glass off his table and downs it, though he hadn’t intended on drinking more. Something is about to go down and he’s not sure he wants to be conscious for it. Minato turns back to him. “You are Mochizuki-kun.”

“Minato-kun.” Soft. His smile is as pleasant as ever, eyes crinkling at the sides. Minato feels something compel him forward, toward that smile. It’s a terrible idea, and he hadn’t planned for terrible ideas drinking because he’d only planned for terrible ideas with Yukari. Which were always delicious, ravishing ideas. But right now, his head is full of one person only. 

“Mochizuki-kun. We keep meeting.” Minato smiles as best as he knows, head heavy, and instead of lolling it around, he settles for resting it against Mochizuki-kun’s shoulder. Mochizuki-kun, he notices, smells really good. Really really good. He always smells nice, courtesy of some expensive cologne or maybe even natural scent or I don’t know but something about tonight is making Minato nearly suffocate himself trying to inhale his classmate. He whispers, “Mochizuki-kun,” and laughs quietly.

“Call me Ryoji, please.” Then a hand is petting the back of Minato’s head. Minato closes his eyes. There’s a gentle firmness in it, like a mother cat licking its newborn kitten. The fingers alternately run through and catch on his strands. There’s perfect smoothness and perfect tension in the strokes. Ryoji’s fingers, he decides, are the most pleasurable thing in his life. Would love to just chop them up and put them in a case in his dorm. He needs more of this.

With Minato’s head a dead rock pressing down on Ryoji, it takes all his strength to turn his face inward, into the crook of the boy’s neck. His scent is stronger here, and before he even realizes it Minato is planting kisses around his collarbone, then up his neck to the skin behind his ear, holding himself back from bites. Fuck it, he needs this. He can feel Ryoji’s strokes on his hair lagging, uneven. But then the hands are moving downward, petting his lower back, his thighs, his ass, and oh god this is going to have to end somewhere and he’s not sure where and he’s too drunk and conflicted to think so he keeps moving.

Minato feels the rhythmic rumble of Ryoji’s Adam’s apple as he chuckles. “Minato-kun, that tickles.” He’s pushed off for a second as they sit there, taking time to consider each other in the dim pink light. Minato realizes this is actually their first meeting alone, and one of the few outside of uniform. Ryoji is wearing his usual white dress shirt, but without the strange accessories. Instead, a smart gray blazer is pulled over his shoulders, now slightly frumpled and awkward after their contact. His eyes, wide and doe-like, pore over Minato in a predatory way that the latter had never imagined. Maybe unconsciously, Ryoji pushes back strands of black hair from his forehead. Definitely not unconsciously, he licks his lips slowly. That mouth is spinning.

That last drink had not been worth it. Well, maybe. Minato had done it because he felt something bad coming out of their meeting, but maybe that had been the cause of the bad coming out of their meeting, or maybe it was good because it definitely felt good, really way more good than it should. It’s not that he’s bad with alcohol, he and Yukari have both had lots of experience binge drinking at the dorm. Thank or blame the senpais, but they were kids lounging around a dorm with no parental supervision, things were bound to happen. With their experience, they could’ve come to the club tonight and everything should’ve been perfect. 

But Ryoji is everywhere. Ever since this guy showed up in the city, in the school, Minato has been seeing him. Even in his dreams. Even in Pharos. Sometimes, god, he’s really fucked, he even sees the guy in the Shadows they’re fighting. And now, the one night he’s drinking in public at some weird strip mall club with his girlfriend, he’s here too. 

Minato is suddenly deeply frustrated. He jabs an index finger into Ryoji’s chest, wobbles, and steadies himself with the other hand on the back of the booth seat. Ryoji helps him. Minato growls. “I don’t need your help. You are a small boy, Ryoji. You should not be in this club. Why are you here? Why are you everywhere?”

“I like to meet new people.” 

Minato stammers. It’s too much. There’s only one reasonable retort, and it’s horribly crass, and he enunciates it as clearly as possible. “I’m. A dude.”

Ryoji pushes back his hair, obviously unfettered. “People are fascinating.” 

“You are. A big stupid, you know that? You’re fascinating.”

“Maybe. And you are drunk.” A gentle laugh, like he’s humouring a child. He’s always doing that. Laughing or smiling, humouring others. Minato wants no part in that. Something dark, vast grips him, and it tells him that the boy is his. He almost jolts. There are flashes of blue butterfly behind Ryoji’s eyes. It’s not drunkenness, it’s not some kind of proto-jealousy. It’s big, and it’s dangerous, and hell if he won’t obey it and claim this boy for himself. 

For now, he takes that smile, and their mouths collide like a reunion. It’s gentle at first, because okay Minato has literally and will literally never like guys but Ryoji is for some reason the exception to everything that has ever existed. Then, they’re gasping, and Minato has an urge to kiss Ryoji until he dies of asphyxiation. That is, if Ryoji doesn’t do him in first. Every second apart is an eternity too long in their ungraspable familiarity. Breathless, he practically tears off his blazer. When they reunite, Minato memorizes everything because despite it all he feels like it’s a last time. Ryoji’s dark eyelashes, slightly curled upward, flutter closed long before their mouths meet. The perfect slant of his nose slotting just right next to Minato’s when their faces are this close. And his body: the thin tautness of his frame, the musculature on his forearms, that pale, exposed neck he could just sink his teeth into. For a second he imagines him bleeding cerulean blue. He’s never thought about hurting Yukari, but he doesn’t stop with the boy in front of him because it’s the only right way to be with him. 

The boy’s hands roam freely over Minato’s form, like he’s exploring something infinitely precious but that has to be charted immediately. The fingers tease at the waistband of his pants, thumb tracing the ridge, hooking under his boxers. Minato’s definitely straining there now, and with Ryoji pinned underneath him, there’s really nothing to it. He grinds shamelessly into him, hard, unable to contain himself. From the ragged, mewling moan underneath him, it’s something they both feel.

Ryoji must see something, because he turns, then squirms. “Stop.”

He looks at the direction Ryoji is, but sees nothing. Of course he doesn’t stop. 

“I’m not… we’re in public.” The boy sits up, gasping. “And you’re not sound.”

Minato’s pretty sure it doesn’t matter who’s sloshed when it comes to them.

“We both know there’s something weird about this, like there’s something drawing us together, and it’s not normal, and I think we should talk about it first.” Ryoji’s eyes cloud over with darkness for a second, and at that second Minato would’ve liked to swallow his eyes whole. 

“You know what I think?” Minato shouts. “You’re just sober.” 

To tell the truth, it’s hard to take the guy seriously when his junk is still pressed against Minato’s, embarrassingly hard, and their traitorous bodies can’t stop rocking against each other to save their lives. Ryoji shuts his eyes, like he’s trying to be good and kind and right but he just can’t. They both know they’re some sort of weird exception to everything for each other.

“Fine,” he says, getting up and snatching his blazer stiffly. “Let’s go back to my place tonight. But we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

They never do.

That night, spent, he remembers following Ryoji’s line of sight at the club, and seeing a brunette in a short pink dress walking out the door. It doesn’t matter. When he spends time with Ryoji, there’s no tomorrows. Only a blue butterfly’s wings, and the knowledge that Death loves it up the ass. 

 

.

 

Well, it only lasts so long. Sex is nice, but Minato knows he’s sobering up now. Fortunately, tomorrow, there’ll be something even better the other boy can give him. With his arms around Ryoji’s back under the covers, he traces careful lines on his body. Shoulder. Rib. Loin. A butcher marking his cuts.


End file.
